


Strange Shores

by Bouzingo



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angie's stage career, Anna and Angie are trans!, Body Dysphoria, Dancing, F/F, F/M, Gender Issues, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/pseuds/Bouzingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie's stage career takes an interesting turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Shores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenofinsanity6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofinsanity6/gifts).



The dream role is right around the corner; Angie is convinced. However, after a day of noes and maybes, conviction is difficult. On the bright side, at least she has this swanky house to go back to after a day like today. And the company she keeps these days is… well…

“I wasn’t expecting you back ‘til late,” Angie says to Peggy, who has just pulled a carton of ice cream from the freezer. Ice cream you can keep in the house is a new and dangerous development, especially to Angie’s jealously maintained dancing figure. Peggy, bless her, sweats ice cream off the next day at work.

Peggy pulls out a second spoon from the drawer and sticks it into the carton with an inviting glance.

“I’ll tell you all about my day right after you tell me yours,” Peggy says.

“What’s there to tell?” Angie sighs, and pulls out the spoon to stick directly into her mouth. “I got a great pair of legs and a fantastic smile and I’ve been taking acting lessons for years now. But you know what else I got?”

“Oh, darling,” Peggy says, squeezing Angie’s hand. “They’re still…l?”

“Still. I keep thinking that I pass and maybe I do sometimes but I still get treated like some kind of… joke at auditions,” Angie says. “I want to be on that stage, Peggy. I want to love, and be loved, and say those lines that I’ve been dreaming about since I was little. But I just don’t know what to do, because my best isn’t the same as someone else’s.”

“Your best is better,” Peggy says. “And I won’t let you forget that. Are we still going dancing tonight? Or did you want to stay in?”

“Tough choice,” Angie says. “I just got that suit tailored. Seems a shame to waste.”

The suit is just nipped a little around the waist, and the pants hemmed a couple inches to make way for the high heels. Angie ties a floaty scarf ‘round her neck in lieu of a tie, and turns to Peggy with a self-effacing smile.

“I’m not Captain America,” she says. She apologizes the same way every time, an apology that comes from somewhere deeper than the flippant way she says it.

“You don’t have to be,” Peggy says. “You’re you.”

Angie is a better dancer than Peggy is, and leads admirably. At the strange smoke-filled bar that they found in Brooklyn, they make a good pair, foreheads pressed together for the slower songs while others like them dance similarly.

“You never told me about your day,” Angie mutters with a smile.

“It was all classified anyhow,” Peggy admits. “I don’t like to make you worry.”

“You have a strange way of not making me worry,” Angie says, but her brow smooths at the sound of a more upbeat song. Soon they’re dragging each other to one of the little tables tucked in the corner, and Angie’s hat is coming askew.

“With that angle, you look very debonair,” Peggy says, reaching out to fix the hat.

“My mother said I would be a real lady killer,” Angie says. “I doubt this is what she had in mind. Maybe I should grow a mustache?”

“Perhaps,” Peggy says, hand drifting across Angie’s smooth cheek, smiling when she blushes. “Wouldn’t it tickle though? You know, when we…”

“Oh my god,” Angie says, going redder, and struggles to continue her conversation. “I mean, if my career as an _actress_ isn’t going anywhere, would it hurt to try the other way?”

“Are you sure?” Peggy says quietly.

“Not at all,” Angie says. “But you know there’s some days, a lot of days, when it, all of it, feels like…”

She makes a gesture.

“Like neither of them line up anyway?” she finishes. “I just want to get heard. I want to act. Can I… would you be okay with that, I mean?”

“I’m going to love you and whatever you do,” Peggy says. “Just tell me what you need to do.”

They tell Lou Martins that Martinelli is too big for most billboards, even with just one ‘l’. Angie rolls her eyes while she goes through her contract, and signs with a new signature. Her new wardrobe materializes soon after, stylish but muted. A couple of floaty scarves eventually make it into the otherwise tasteful collection, and at home she lounges around in pretty negligee with abandon.

“When I said I wanted my picture in the papers, this isn’t what I was thinking,” she says, cackling, and folds the paper to the ad so Peggy can see. “Who’s this Lou Martins guy? Never heard of him.”

“That’s a very good photo,” Peggy says with a raised eyebrow. “I do like the little mustache.”

“I can’t grow one now,” Angie says, “I’d feel ridiculous with a fake one on top of a real one.”

“C’est la vie,” Peggy sighs.

“C’est la yourself, English,” Angie says, putting a hand through her newly short hair. “Those things are wicked hot anyway.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s like living with _a teenager_ ,” Angie groans.

Peggy can stay stateside for Angie’s premiere, but after that, she’s gone for weeks, with only scattered letters to assure Angie that she’s still alive. Angie comes home one night scared and sad, and spends her night running lines. She wishes she could go home. By herself, the changes in her body suddenly seem more cartoonish and monstrous, and the giant house doesn’t do anything except reflect that back.

“Angie,” Edwin says over one of the twenty-five telephones in the mansion the next day. He’s learned Ms. Martinelli doesn’t fly as an appellation. “Will you come to dinner with me and Anna tomorrow? We thought you must be terribly lonely, what with Ms. Carter’s business trip.”

“Dinner would be great,” Angie says. “Um… it’ll have to be after my show, is that all right?”

“Certainly,” Edwin says. He’s smiling; Angie loves how she can hear his smile over the phone.

“Thanks for thinking about me,” she says. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you like,” Edwin says. “Dinner’s in our home.”

Their house is small and smells like home cooking. Angie feels instantly at home, and accepts the small glass of wine from Edwin as she walks in the door.

“You look well, my dear,” he says. “Leave your jacket anywhere.”

She’s opted for one of the suits that are tailored for a more classic figure, nipped in at the waist and two inch heels. A glance in the mirror doesn’t make her cringe.

“You certainly cut a good figure in a suit,” Anna says. “I remember when I wore suits, and I didn’t look half as good. Do you act for film?”

“Not yet,” Angie says, a little chuffed by the compliment.

Anna is a small and delightful woman with a tailor’s eye and an amazing goulash. And she is like Angie, in a way not many women are.

“Anna, how do you…?” Angie asks, gesturing to the general chest area. Edwin is making a dessert for after dinner and they’re having coffee. Anna chuckles.

“Every woman has her secrets, dear,” she says. “I’ll show you after your big Broadway show, yes?”

“It’s so weird,” Angie says. “Especially cutting my hair.”

“It’s hair,” Anna says, and touches Angie’s hand. “Grows back.”

“Yeah,” Angie says, and it does feel a little better.

“Ms. Carter is on the telephone, Angie,” Jarvis says, stepping out of the kitchen just slightly with the apron. Angie stands up so quickly she nearly topples over the table.

“I miss you,” Angie says. “So much.”

“I’ll be home in the next few days. Will you be all right until then?” Peggy sounds exceptionally winded.

“I’ll be fine! Are you hurt?” Angie asks. Peggy laughs.

“Barely,” she promises. “Just a couple of bruises.”

“I love pressing on your bruises,” Angie says.

“I love when you press,” Peggy returns. “I’m bringing you something from Paris. I hope it isn’t too forward.”

“Is it green?” Angie asks.

“Well, you’ll see,” Peggy says. “I have to go now. I’ll see you on Friday. Have a good morning.”

“It’s evening here,” Angie smiles, and they hang up.


End file.
